


“Love in the Afternoon”

by AhmedA01



Category: 1960s Music Scene RPF, British Singers RPF, Music RPF, Rock Music RPF, The Beatles
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AhmedA01/pseuds/AhmedA01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hot summer New York day brings forth certain truths. Another (very) early work.<i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	“Love in the Afternoon”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously. Unfortunately.

 

The summer sun hovered above the bustling city’s skyline, its gaudy light infusing every inch of the overdeveloped land with forced cheeriness, a faux brilliance shining down on the people below. The day’s sky lacked the vibrant alliance of the scarlets and ambers present during sunrise and sunset, the mixture of colour ardently bleeding into the horizon. It was also without the palpable mysteriousness inherent in the ebony of night; the noon sky lacking such frivolities. Rather the horizon was awash in a dingy grayish blue, lacking personality and substance. Deceptively downy clouds moved amidst a heavy layer of smog, the pollution from the activities of the people on earth tainting the heavens sometimes pierced intermittently by streaks of pure white light, the sun forcing its hand on an unsuspecting world. Tall skyscrapers jutted into the airspace, shiny metallic faces of breakable steel encasing flimsy offices cluttering the sky. The buildings created an obstacle course for the sundry flying creatures that flew about their daily business, distracting them with the reflections that were etched into miles of freshly washed plate glass windows.

It was a sultry day and the earth gave off an unbearable heat, waves of warmth emanating from the firmly packed soil and concrete, suffusing the city with a tangible fever. Branches heavily laden with green foliage were at rest, the glaring absence of even the slightest breeze inciting their stillness. All earthbound creatures remained relatively motionless, the smallest movement proving to be too much to bear as the normally hyperactive New Yorkers preferred the benefits of sluggishness over ineffectual activity. Many retreated to the infinitely more tolerable confines of the indoors; air-conditioned offices and stores, homes with electric fans turned on full blast, the shades drawn against the harsh glare of the sun. However, it was all futile, the inside proving to be no escape from the frighteningly high temperatures. Air conditioners gave off an untouchable coolness, the semi-chilled air that emanated from the vents mixing with the warmth that seeped in through the closed windows and doors; creating the much accustomed and much abhorred lukewarm stickiness. A fitful sleep was the only proven way to somewhat escape the heat of the day.

Miles above, trapped behind planes of thick glass, heavy breathing permeated a shuttered room, a drawn out gasp breaking the silence as a sweat slicked body lay tangled amidst the crisp white linens. Enclosed in one of the Plaza Hotel’s “luxury suites” Paul McCartney’s lithe form lay sprawled across a dingy hotel bed, perspiration dripping down smooth skin, beads of sweat glistening under the pale light that crept between the cracks in the wooden blinds. A ceiling fan whirred imperceptibly, a low artificial breeze wafting through the room, tousling a head of dark brown hair. The white sheets dipped tantalizing low on a bare chest, a pale expanse of skin with a light smattering of fine black hair that stood in stark contrast to the untanned skin. He murmured dreamily, words spoken with no meaning and no thought, the rambling of one in response to one’s own dreams. Limbs moved in agitation, the heat in the air prompting Paul to writhe uncomfortably underneath the white sheets, the sticky white material dipping even lower to reveal a flat stomach and a thin line of fine hair that moved from his navel and disappeared somewhere under the covers. Head titling at an angle on the haphazard pile of pillows, a wet tongue unconsciously wetted parted lips, a loud sigh brought forth as he moved from side to side. Locks of dark hair tumbled into closed eyes, creating a picture of mixed innocence, an understated sexuality inherent in Paul’s every sleeping move, from the tilt of his head, to the movement of his hands, calloused fingers moving up to rest on lightly on his uncovered stomach.

A sudden low creaking noise broke the silence as a lone figure entered the closed room, his eyes immediately adjusting to the darkness, his heavy footfalls silently treading into the room as a pair of bare feet sunk into the soft cream carpet. The intruder closed the heavy wooden door behind him, his hands lingering on the cool brass doorknob before turning around, his hungry gaze fixed firmly on the sleeping figure before him. With measured steps, he advanced upon the sleeping man, hands quickly divesting himself of his white collared shirt, fingers nimbly undoing the mother of pearly buttons as he untucked the off-white material from within well-fitting black trousers.

The garment soon crumpled to the floor, falling noiselessly as it revealed John’s fair skin, gleaming in the filtered light as his face remained in shadow. He moved towards the bed, curling one knee delicately on the mattress as the springs groaned underneath the added weight. He lifted a guitar-roughened finger and trailed it down one of Paul’s sweat-slicked cheeks, the heated digit making Paul moan softly as his body unconsciously shifted closer towards the unseen visitor. John smiled as he sat on the bed, his legs folded under him as he fixed a dark-eyed gaze upon his sleeping partner, fingers gently skimming over his face as he brushed tendrils of hair out of Paul’s closed eyes.

Seconds passed, time ticking away slowly as the hands of a small analog travel clock moved around the dial, the tick-tock heard loud and clear in the relatively quiet room. And yet, John simply lay on the bed silently, his gaze fixed on Paul’s sleeping figure, dark eyes drinking in every detail of the younger man’s face. John watched as if mesmerized by the sight, sometimes daring to even caress Paul’s face and shoulders, bestowing almost deferential touches on the younger man’s skin. The older man seemed to struggle with himself, wanting to say something one second, but with a negative shake of his head, talking himself out of it the next. As seconds turned into minutes, John shook his head slightly, finding the courage within him to speak, his voice slightly rough with emotion and uncertainty.

“Dearest Paulie,” John murmured after taking in a deep breath. “So innocent in sleep, your wide eyes closed to the outside world, locking your secrets away from me and from the others.” Tracing the line of Paul’s jaw, John paused as if memorizing the feel of the slightly stubbled skin underneath his fingertips. “What do you dream of, love?” he continued, his voice tight with emotion. “Do you dream about the next crappy show or the next press conference filled with imbecilic reporters with equally imbecilic questions? Or maybe you dream about songs you hope to put to paper in order to get the next A-side?” John chuckled slightly before closing his eyes for the briefest second, and expelling a shaky breath before uttering his next words. “Or perhaps you dream about me?”

John lifted his body up slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him as he laid abreast Paul, his body propped up on one arm. He resumed caressing Paul’s face gently, his eyes drinking in ever nuance of his partner’s features, not willing to turn his gaze away for even the slightest second.

”What have you done to me, Macca?” John said softly, his hand stilling as he spoke. “Every bloody minute of every bloody day is spent thinking about you. About holding you, kissing you, of just fucking being with you,” his voice rose, causing Paul to stir softly, his body moving restlessly slightly curving to John’s prone body. With a deep breath, John attempted to get his emotions under control as he lowered his voice again. “Each time I see you, it takes all of me self-control not to push you against a wall and fucking kiss you until you can’t stand on your own. I just want to break this bloody vow of silence and tell them all,” he spoke in frustration, face twisting in anger. “I want to tell George, Ritchie, Brian, everyone! Sod the consequences, I don’t give a damn what they or anyone else will think.”

Pausing, John lowered his head, placing a light kiss on Paul’s forehead, his mouth relishing the taste of the salty sweet sweat that clung to the younger man’s skin. His lips trailed down Paul’s face, placing butterfly kisses along the side of his jaw before bestowing a light peck on Paul’s closed lips.

“I love your mouth,” John whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I love kissing it. Your lips so sweet and inviting, the taste of scotch on your tongue.” John paused as he continued to lightly kiss the younger man’s mouth, his tongue outlining the slight curve of Paul’s lips, gently sucking on the full lower lip. Leaning back slightly, John continued with a smirk, “Grinning innocently as the press and the fans, when you and I both know just how innocent this mouth of your really is.”

He kissed the tip of Paul’s nose, before lightly kissing his closed eyes, the smooth skin of Paul’s eyelids melding delicately to John’s lips.

“Your eyes are bloody fantastic,” John breathed, tenderly outlining the younger man’s closed eyes with a sole finger. “I could fucking drown in them, two swirling pools of burnished hazel, burning with barely concealed arousal when you motion me towards a deserted dressing room before a concert or a television appearance, stolen moments here and there.”

His calloused hands cupping the side of Paul’s face, John kissed towards the younger man’s ear, nibbling an earlobe gently as he swirled his tongue around the gentle swell. Paul moaned in his sleep as John came closer, continuing to caress his feverish skin.

“I love every fucking part of you,” John gasped out between kisses, “From the heated touch of your hands, to the feel of your bare chest pressed against my own, to the light murmur of your voice against the side of my face.”

With a strangled gasp, John’s body grew still as his eyes closed, dark head falling forward to rest beside the bassist, his lips close to Paul’s ear as he draped an arm over the younger man’s body.

“But most of all,” John murmured, “I love you Paulie. I love you more than I ever imagined possible, but I’m too big of a fucking coward to say the words when you’re awake. I’m just too fucking scared to let you actually hear me say them.” With one last sigh, John closed his eyes and continued to lie parallel to his partner, shoulders touching slightly.

A minute or two later, a hand suddenly brushed the top of John’s down turned head, warm fingers lightly tickling the base of his scalp. Too shocked to say a word, John lay there stunned, as a light kiss was placed on the side of his face.

“I love you too, Johnny,” a soft voice uttered sweetly into his ear.

The blood that ran through John’s veins turned icy cold, freezing throughout his body as he willed himself not to tremble. The words “Bloody fucking hell” ran through his mind in an endless cycle, as he slowly lifted his head, his frightened eyes meeting Paul’s glowing ones. The younger man smiled shyly as he looked at John, shifting on the bed slightly so as to turn on his side, his hand coming up to caress the older man’s face but John flinched back violently as he quickly sat up, facing away from Paul. Watching the slightly trembling form of his mate, a look of confusion replaced the one of happiness that was etched upon Paul’s face.

“John?” Paul questioned guardedly as he slowly sat up, his bare back resting against a pile of feather thin pillows, his head hitting the headboard with a light thud. “What’s wrong, love” he asked softly, his arms reaching out to John’s turned back.

“Don’t call me ‘love,’” the rhythm guitarist mumbled under his breath as he turned his body further away, Paul’s ears just barely making out the hushed tones.

Paul watched silently as John lifted his body off the thin mattress, legs thrown over the side of the bed, his feet landing with a resounding thump on the thick carpet, as he sat straight up, his bare back to a bewildered Paul.

“How long have you been awake?” John ground out from between gritted teeth, his cheeks flushed tinged a bright cherry as what he had uttered to what he had presumed was a sleeping Paul slowly resurfaced to taunt him. _Bugger_ , John thought desperately. _What have I done?_

Paul looked at John, that look of confusion still etched upon his face as he formulated an answer. _What the fuck is wrong with him?_ he mused silently, before finally answering “Not that long.”

“Oh, gee,” John bit out sarcastically, his hand running through his tousled hair. “’Not that long,’ he says. Yeah, that sure tells me a lot.” With a grim look on his face, John turned around briefly catching a quick glance of Paul before whipping back around. “How long is ‘Not that long?’”

“It’s not like I was timing it, you prick,” Paul said somewhat angrily, as he sat straight up, unheeding of the pain as his head hit the headboard with considerable force. Lowering his voice, Paul continued, “Probably since the time you first kissed me.”

John turned around incredulously, his face twisting in anger. “That was practically a half a fucking hour ago!” John exploded, a small vein throbbing in the older man’s forehead. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that you were awake all this time?”

Taken aback at John’s burst of anger, Paul paled slightly but he looked back into John’s eyes defiantly. “I don’t know,” he exclaimed, his hands moving in front of him in a calming gesture. “I just wanted to see what you were doing here. What you had come to say.”

“Well, that’s fucking great, innit?” John spat derisively, his lips curling into a sneer. His voice shook as he spoke, whether in anger or fear the older man didn’t know. He fixed Paul with a hard stare before continuing, “You were pretending to be asleep while I blithered on and on like a bloody queer! Making a fool of myself.”

“Oh, fucking hell, John,” Paul sighed as he moved towards the angered man, the mattress squeaking in protest under the shifting weight. He stretched out his hand resting it heavily on John’s forearm as he continued to speak. “That is not what I was doing, and you now it.”

“Like hell you weren’t!” John growled as he made to get off the bed, preparing to leave the room the need to put as much distance between himself and Paul as he possibly could foremost in his mind. His retreat, however, was impeded by the tight grip that the younger man had on his arm, Paul’s nails practically digging into the fair skin as he tried to make John stay. He looked down at Paul’s grip angrily, before meeting the bassist’s determined gaze with a look of fury bordering on desperation.

“Let go of me Paul,” John warned, almost menacingly a touch of panic inherent in his tone, eyes wide in his angular face.

“No, John,” Paul uttered with a deathly calm ad he tightened his clutch. Facing John with a look of absolute resolve, Paul continued, “Not until you listen to me…”

“I said to fucking let go of me!” the older man snarled, violently shaking of Paul’s steely grasp as he got to his feet. John stood by the bed with his gaze locked on some insignificant point on the wall in front of him. With a look akin to fear etched upon his face, John looked everywhere but at Paul, unwilling to meet his eyes for another second. His eyes turned to the ground, John moved quickly towards the door. His retreat was, however, brought to a sudden halt as he was violent pushed away from the door, John’s head snapping up in surprise as he came face to face with Paul’s pissed off face, prompting him to take a few steps back uncertainly.

“You never know when to shut up, do you Lennon?” Paul spat out as he advanced on a backpedaling John, his finger digging into John’s bare chest as he continued to move towards John like a lion stalking its prey. The back of John’s knees hit the side of the bed with a surprising jolt, causing the older man to fall back onto the mattress, his elbows cushioning his fall back onto the bed as he looked up at Paul openmouthed.

“I just don’t know what your fucking problem is Lennon,” Paul continued angrily, his face flushed an enraged scarlet, arms folded across his chest as he looked down at John with ill-veiled disapproval. “So you let your guard down for one bloody minute and I happened to hear it? So, fucking what?” Paul shouted, as he threw his arms up into the air. Glaring down at his partner, Paul attempted to get his irritation under control before continuing. “I’ve seen you at your fucking best, John. Whether it is telling a reporter to sod off or overjoyed after having written a bloody fantastic song. And I’ve seen you at your fucking worst,” Paul paused slightly, taking in a deep breath, his fierce look softening imperceptibly. “Burned out on prellys or fucking piss drunk, talking shite and insulting anything and everything that moves.” His voice losing a touch of its ire, Paul looked at John helplessly, his arms falling to his sides. “But you know what,” Paul breathed, “This was neither. This was just you, John Winston Lennon being simply John Winston Lennon for once in your fucking life, without all of the snide comments and affected swagger, not trying to be the fearless Ted that you’ve always struggled to be.”

Paul knelt before John, resting his hands on the guitarist’s thighs an imploring look imprinted on his face as he spoke softly.

“John, listen to me,” Paul began before inhaling shakily. “I don’t know what made you come here today or what made you open up the way that you did, and I don’t really give a damn.”

John turned his face away, shoulders shaking slightly as he tried to avoid Paul’s penetrating gaze. Gradually, Paul rose up on his knees, his hands reaching out to cup John’s face, the pads of his thumbs gently rubbing the older man’s cheek as he turned John’s face towards his again.

With a shaky smile, Paul fixed his gaze on John’s, his eyes pleading with John to listen to what he had to say. “All I know is that I love you, and knowing that you feel the same way is probably the best fucking thing to ever happen to me.” Leaning in close, Paul placed his hands on John’s arms before brushing his lips lightly against John’s, initiating a brief, chaste kiss, before drawing back and looking John straight in the eyes. “I love you, John,” Paul whispered softly. “I love you more than anything in this world, and I’d be fucking lost without you.”

The apprehension in John’s eyes and the tightness around his mouth slowly faded away as he looked at Paul in awe. A tentative smile graced his lips, as he raised a hand and let it trail down Paul’s cheek, the bassist’s eyes closing sweetly under the light caress.

“ **Probably** the best fucking thing to ever happen to you?” John queried teasingly, now grinning unabashedly.

Paul opened his eyes and graced John with a full-blown grin. Winking, Paul leaned forward and whispered into John’s ear, “More like definitely. But I didn’t want you to become too cocky.”

Smiling, John moved in for a kiss, his mouth melding to that of the younger man’s, his hand resting at the nape of Paul’s neck, finger playing with the soft hair. The younger man slowly got up off the carpet and moved to sit on the bed, their lips not breaking contact as John took a hold of Paul’s lower lip between his teeth and nibbled it gently, eliciting a shocked gasp from the younger man. Paul parted his lips, allowing entrance to John’s tongue, the older man gently tracing the contours of his mouth, flicking the edges of his lips before accepting the offer of entrance.

A low gasp caught painfully in the back of Paul’s throat, his hands tightening around John’s forearms as he moved his tongue against John’s a playful battle between two equals, the taste of one too many beers and cigarettes fresh in each other’s mouths, evoking a familiar burst of flavour. John massaged the back of Paul’s neck as he swept the inside of his partner’s mouth, both sighing simultaneously as the kiss grew in degrees of fervor, lips slanting across each other as John ran his tongue along the roof of Paul’s mouth and over the tenderness of his gums. He alternated his motions with the soft sucking of the bassist’s tongue, the rhythm guitarist taking it into his own mouth as he fastened his lips around the roughened organ, pulling on it none too gently.

Paul slowly lay back, pulling John down on top of him, lips still fused together, the kiss seeming to be their only source of sustenance. Their bodies fit together perfectly, bare skin against bare skin, the sweat that coated Paul’s lean frame coalescing with the stickiness that graced John’s firm body. Moving his lips away, Paul trailed open mouthed kisses along John’s jaw, creating a wet path towards the older man’s neck. He fastened his mouth on the quickly fluttering pulse point, gently nibbling and sucking the sensitive flesh. A sharp exhale of breath was followed by a low moan, John moving frenziedly atop his partner, the assault of lips upon his neck causing the older man to writhe deliciously, every movement allowing for greater bodily contact.

With a smirk, Paul raised his body ever so slightly, his hands bracing John’s shoulders as he pushed the older man off him and rolled him on his back. Looking around in surprise, John groaned low in his throat, his glazed eyes looking into those of his partner.

Wetting his lips slightly, John moaned softly, “Macca, how did I come to be in the position?” he asked in a confused voice, as the younger man covered his body with his own. “Wasn’t I the one up there a few minutes ago?”

Smiling mischievously, Paul licked the side of John’s neck before answering. “Does it really matter, Johnny?” Paul whispered eliciting a slight shudder from the older man.

Barely able to form a coherent sentence, John gasped out, “I… suppose… not.” His eyes closed as Paul continued to slide down his body.

Paul licked and kissed a path down John’s body, before encountering the black trousers that still graced John’s body. With a smirk, he said almost to himself, “Well, these will just have to go.” Moving his fingers to the button fly, Paul quickly divested John of the black pants, flying over the buttons in no time at all before working on ridding himself of his checkered boxers. Throwing both articles of clothing across the room, Paul lowered himself back on the bed, moving towards John’s knees as he placed a soft kiss on the inside of John’s thigh.

As Paul made himself more comfortable, John lay on the bed, moving restlessly uttering soft sounds as his eyes remained closed. Paul looked up quickly before lowering his head, flicking his tongue out quickly towards the tip of John’s penis. John bit back a loud moan as Paul slowly swirled his tongue around the tip before sucking on it gently, twirling his tongue around the pale shaft as he continued to suck steadily. Paul let his tongue thrust into the slit, relishing the beads of pre-cum that clung to the skin, his tongue gently probing as John squirmed on the bed, his breathing growing more laboured as his movements on the bed grew more frantic.

Paul took John’s entire penis into his mouth, teeth lightly running along its length, as he moved his hand downwards to grip his own shaft. He sucked John’s penis attentively, the movements of his hand in time to the motions of his mouth. They both groaned and moaned in sync, both nearing release as Paul moved his mouth over John increasingly stiffening erection, taking his dick in as far into his mouth as it could go with each successive suck. A whimper falling from John’s lips, he came quickly into Paul’s mouth, filling it with cum, the younger man swallowing the viscous liquid in one mouthful. In a matter of seconds, Paul’s one climax was reached, the sticky liquid covering his hand.

Falling limp against the mattress, Paul reached towards the floor, his hand patting the floor around him as he blindly searched for a tissue box so as to clean up. After a few seconds of fruitless hunting, Paul finally found the fallen box. Grabbing a handful of tissues and quickly wiping his hands, Paul crawled up the bed towards John’s still form, curling into his side as he draped one hand over the older man’s chest.

“Mmm,” John moaned, eyes still closed. With a satisfied expression on his face, John soon opened his eyes as he stretched languidly, his arms stretched over his head. “Your mouth,” he continued reverently, “Is fucking fantastic, love.”

Chuckling softly, Paul drew idle circles upon John’s chest, the younger man’s head resting comfortably on his mate’s shoulder.

“Complimenting me blow job prowess, mate?” Paul laughed with pleasure, Coming from you, well, that is a fucking compliment indeed.”

John chuckled softly as silence descended, the two men resting in companionable quiet and enjoying the few minutes that they had together. Both tried not to think about the world outside the hotel room, each trying to savour the few precious moments they had without band obligations, screaming fans, intrusive reporters, and the blinding flash of cameras. But try as they might, responsibilities rose unbidden to the mind, and after some time John finally spoke.

“What time is it?” he asked dreading the answer as he propped himself up against the headboard, arching his back slightly as the bare skin touched the somewhat rough wood.

With a tired groan, Paul stretched across John, damp skin meeting damp skin as he reached towards the small clock on the other side of the bed. Grabbing it with one hand, Paul groaned as he checked the time.

“Fuck it’s almost 2,” Paul moaned as he let the clock fall back to the ground. “We have that bloody show in just three hours.”

With a whimper, John began to repeatedly bang his head against the headboard.

“Fucking hell…” he grumbled in time to the thumps of his head on the board. “Not another bloody show!”

Laughing, Paul sat up quickly, grabbing the older man by the shoulders as he attempted to stop John potentially harmful behaviour.

“Now, now,” he admonished, shaking a finger in John’s face as if disciplining an errant child. “None of that. Don’t want you to damage anything up there. It’s barely in working order as it is.”

Narrowing his eyes, John glared at Paul playfully. “Why do I put up with you again?” he asked in mock anger.

With a slow wink and an exaggerated flirtatious grin, Paul leaned against John’s shoulder, as he pulled his mate’s arm around him. Resting his dark head in the crook of John’s neck, Paul answered “Because I have a fucking fantastic mouth,” Paul practically purred, as he traced the veins in John’s arm. “You said so yourself.”

Trying hard not to laugh, John’s mouth twitched uncontrollably as he shook his head in awe at Paul’s cheeky behaviour.

Oh, and because you love me,” Paul continued teasingly, turning his head quickly towards John to gauge his reaction.

John simply stared back, his mouth opening and closing as he thought of what to say in response. With a sigh and his face reddening slightly, John shot Paul a look somewhere between a death glare and embarrassment, before saying, “Do not.”

Patting John’s hand condescendingly, Paul shook his head in the negative. “Do too,” he exclaimed gleefully. “I heard you.”

With a sour look on his face, John turned away, “You’re fucking delirious,” he grumbled half to himself.

“Am not,” Paul sniggered slightly, as he turned towards John, poking him in the chest.

The corners of his mouth slowly turned up in a reluctant smile as John turned back to Paul before responding “Are too,” he said, chuckling lightly.

“Am not,” the younger man exclaimed. “I heard you quite clearly. ‘Oh sweet Paulie, the apple of my eye,” Paul pretended to swoon, falling into John’s lap with his hand clutching his heart. “I love you more than life itself. More than ciggies! More than my guitar! More than…”

Shaking his head in amusement, John interrupted Paul. “You’re a fucking prat, you know that?” he said, looking down on the reclining bassist. Fixing him with a glare he continued. “And I do not love you more than ciggies.”

“Sure you do,” Paul said haughtily as he struggled to get up, quickly throwing the sheets aside before lying on the bed. “How could you not?” he continued once he had made himself comfortable. “I’m irresistible,” he said with smug satisfaction.

Propping a pillow between himself and the headboard, John muttered, “Fucking loony.”

“It’s one of my many charms,” Paul said matter-of-factly. “Besides, it’s why you love me.”

“Are we starting this again?” John asked, a slight irritation colouring his voice. Turning his back on Paul he moved to throw his legs over the side of the bed, as he said over his shoulder, “Because I could just leave you to it. You obviously don’t need me to fucking amuse yourself.”

Sitting up quickly, Paul grabbed hold of John’s arm, laughing as he pulled the older man back down.

“Okay fine” Paul sighed. “I’ll stop for now.” Yawning Paul lay back on the bed as he closed his eyes, still continuing to speak. “Well, we have more or less three hours until the show, so, I suppose we could get some rest before we have to get up to get ready.”

Raising an eyebrow, John looked down on his supine partner. “Rest?” he asked incredulously. “But Macca,” he said mischievously. “I have many other ideas on ways we could spend our time.”

Curling into John’s side, Paul yawned again. “Maybe later,” he replied faintly, sleep creeping in. Before completely asleep, he murmured softly, “I love you, John.”

A soft smile on his face, John leaned back against the headboard after attempting to fluff up the pillows behind him. He gazed down at Paul as the younger man slept, brushing the hair from his face before leaning down to place a light kiss on his partner’s forehead.

“I love you too,” John whispered softly before moving away, resting against the board as he continued to watch Paul sleep.


End file.
